


love has no mind, it can't spell unkind

by sheisraging



Series: even the landscape resembles you [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25673152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheisraging/pseuds/sheisraging
Summary: Oliver takes Elio to meet his grandmother.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: even the landscape resembles you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516736
Comments: 70
Kudos: 146





	love has no mind, it can't spell unkind

**Author's Note:**

> This lives in the ETLRY universe, and takes place some time after [Kol Nidre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092059).

Elio pushes the seatbelt away and tugs at the neck of his sweater. He fusses with the sleeves, pulling them past the buttoned cuffs of his shirt, only to push them back up. Finally he sighs, drops his head back against the seat, slips his fingers beneath the neck, and sighs again. 

“Just take it off if you’re uncomfortable,” Oliver tells him. He reaches out and gently moves Elio’s hand away from his neck, links it with his own, and lets them rest on the center console.

“I don’t want to look like I’m—” he stops. Bites his lips and tips his forehead against the window. 

Oliver waits for the car coming up his tail to pass him. Checks his speed and frowns. “Like you’re what?” he squeezes Elio’s hand. 

“Nothing,” Elio mutters, and puts on a fake smile. “It’s fine.”

“Elio,” Oliver squeezes his hand again and Elio’s shoulders drop. 

“I just want to make a good impression,” Elio confesses. 

The corner of Oliver’s mouth quirks. “You will,” he nods. 

“How do you know?”

“Because she’s my grandmother and you’re you and I know,” Oliver shrugs. “I can certainly promise you that whether or not you’re wearing a sweater over your shirt won’t make or break her impression of you.”

Elio makes a plaintive noise and shifts in his seat. He pushes the seatbelt behind his shoulder while he tugs the sweater over his head, huffs as he tosses it into the back seat, and straightens himself out again. 

“You’re sure it’s not too casual?” 

Oliver lets his eyes stray from the road for a brief second. Grins when he notes the mess Elio’s made of his hair. 

“What?” Elio asks. His hands fly up to comb through his curls. 

“You look fine,” Oliver slides his hand over again. Squeezes Elio’s thigh this time. “Besides, this isn’t some formal affair. We’re just going to visit. I’m not dressed up.”

“You’re in a suit!” Elio exclaims.

“It’s not a— this is what I wore to work,” Oliver laughs. “It’s hardly extravagant. You’re in dress slacks and a shirt, same as me. If you’d like, I will change into sweatpants the moment we get there.”

Elio quiets. He looks at Oliver’s hand on his leg, picks it up and kisses his knuckles. “I’m just being overdramatic — a shock, I know.”

Oliver smiles quietly. “Never would’ve imagined.”

Elio bites his lip. “Do you— never mind.”

“What?”

“Just— will we have to sleep in separate rooms?”

Oliver frowns. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it.”

“Really?” Elio’s brows crease. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about it. Do you not care, or—”

“No, I do— obviously, I do. I suppose I just took for granted that it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh,” Elio nods, relieved. “What if it is?”

“Let’s just see how things go, okay? She knows we share a bed, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to her if we assume we’re sharing a room, but I’d rather not make her uncomfortable in her own home. It would only be for the weekend.”

“I guess I’ll manage to make do,” Elio sighs. “I can’t promise you that I won’t come sneaking into your bed in the wee hours of the evening.”

Oliver snorts. “I’d be terribly disappointed if you didn’t.”

————

As Oliver gathers the bags and locks the car, Elio stands aside and continues to pick at his outfit, his hair. Stuffs his hands into, and pulls them out of, his pockets. “Here, let me—” he takes one of the bags from Oliver’s hands and swings it onto his shoulder. Smiles hesitantly, grateful to have something to do. 

Oliver looks him over and is a bit alarmed and completely enamored by the nervous excitement painted so clearly on his face. He reaches out and takes Elio’s hand. “Ready?”

Elio nods. “Yeah,” he squeezes Oliver’s fingers, but doesn’t move. “Just, um—” he springs forward, cupping Oliver’s cheek and pulling him down. 

Their mouths bump awkwardly and Oliver huffs against him, too surprised to catch up in time. He slips his arm around Elio’s back and brings him closer, nipping gently at his lower lip. Shifts and kisses the apple of his cheek. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Elio exhales over his jaw. “I love you.”

Oliver smiles, “I know.”

Elio’s head snaps up at the sound of a dog yipping from inside the house. 

“Can’t stay out here forever,” Oliver grins and gently nudges Elio ahead of him. “Especially now that Stanley knows we’re here.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Elio mutters. 

“Why wouldn’t the _dog_ like you?”

“I’ve never really been around dogs,” Elio shrugs. “Isn’t that the best judge of character, though? Whether or not a dog likes you?” 

“Well, Stanley likes everyone,” Oliver moves in front of him, tugging him along. “Even my parents. I’m sure you’ll do just fine with him.”

The door is swinging open before Oliver can reach for the bell. He feels Elio’s body go rigid beside him and gently lets go of his hand, moving it to the small of his back. 

“Oliver, my darling!” his grandmother maneuvers around Stanley to reach for him. 

Oliver bends, kisses both of her cheeks and hugs her. When they part, his hand finds its place at Elio’s back again. “Bubbe, this is Elio Perlman,” he smiles adoringly between them. “The nice Jewish boy I’ve told you about.”

Elio’s cheeks flush an incredible shade of pink. He casts a wide-eyed look at Oliver and steps forward, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. — ”

“Oh, none of that—” she waves his handshake away and pulls him in for a hug. “You call me Millie, or Bubbe if you’re comfortable with it. And I’m very glad to meet you, too, Elio.”

“Okay,” Elio agrees, hugging her gratefully. 

She squeezes his arms as they part and gives him a careful, but approving look. “Shall we get you both settled in?” she moves aside, shooing Stanley out of the doorway so they can step into the house. “I’ve made up the guest bedroom upstairs on the right, Oliver. You let me know if that’s okay — I assumed the larger one would be best for the two of you.”

“That’s perfect, Bubbe, thank you,” he nods at Elio reassuringly. “We’ll just take our bags upstairs and be down in a few minutes.”

“Good. Shall I put some coffee on? Or is there something else you boys would like?”

“Coffee’s fine for me,” Elio smiles. “Thank you.”

“Me, as well.”

“Wonderful. Come, Stanley. Let’s go make the coffee,” she pats her thigh and Stanley trots after her down the hall. 

Elio closes his eyes and lets out a long slow breath. 

“I told you it’d be fine,” Oliver whispers against his temple. “Come on. Come upstairs.”

————

The upstairs hallway is a wall of framed photographs — all neatly matted and precisely hung. Elio moves slowly from one to the next, learning the faces of Oliver’s family, of Oliver as a baby, a child, a teenager. At home, the mementos of Oliver’s family and childhood are few and far between. The photo of Kim’s wedding on his desk, a faded polaroid of he and his grandmother at one of his graduation ceremonies that Elio had found tucked into a book and now keeps in his studio. Most of the photographs they have on display are newer — also on Oliver’s desk now are he and Elio outside Carnegie Hall and another of Elio holding Kim’s daughter. A ridiculous self-timer experiment with Elio’s parents from Passover, not one of them ready for the shutter to go off. 

He’s staring at one frame in particular when Oliver comes to find him. A very young Oliver in a light grey suit with a soft blue shirt. His smile is tiny but hopeful as he waves to the person taking his picture.

“How old were you there?” Elio asks, pointing to the photo. 

“God,” Oliver’s lips curve slightly. “Must have been three or four. That was outside the temple at my cousin’s bat mitzvah. I’m the youngest,” he gestures to the other photos on the wall. “Also the only one with no siblings. Nobody ever wanted to play with me until I got older, so that age was tough.”

Elio nods, leans in and loops his arms around Oliver’s waist. Hugs him the way he’d have liked to hug the small, pale boy in the photo. “How come you don’t have any of these at home?”

Oliver sighs, his shoulder lifts slightly. “You know I’m not really close with them.”

“I like this one,” Elio whispers against Oliver’s bicep. “You look… sweet.”

“I am sweet,” Oliver murmurs. He nudges Elio’s hip and tugs him gently toward the stairs. 

————

“I’m just gonna see if she needs any help in the kitchen,” Oliver says.

“Oh,” Elio frowns, starts to follow him. “Should I help? I can—”

“No, no, it’s just coffee,” Oliver waves toward the sitting room. “Sit. I’ll be right out.”

Elio nods and spins on his heel to face the room behind him. The decor matches what he’s seen so far throughout the house — a kind of neat clutter of old, heavy furniture. Large, dark wood pieces — a breakfront filled with antique tchotchkes, a gated fireplace with more picture frames lining the mantel. Angled into the corner of the room is a Steinway baby grand piano. Elio looks over his shoulder, hears the muted conversation coming from the kitchen, and drums his fingers against his thigh. The cover is down, but the instrument looks clean, well cared for. He gently flips the lid back and moves the dust cover, revealing 88 pristine black and white keys. He rolls his fingers through a C-major chord and smiles when the notes are in tune.

“Play something.”

Oliver’s words startle him and Elio jumps away, tucking his hands behind his back. “I should have asked,” he apologizes hurriedly.

“Not at all!” Millie brushes past Oliver, setting her coffee mug down on the table. She comes around to where Elio is standing. “Let me just move this junk out of the way for you, dear.”

“You don’t need to, really,” Elio shakes his head. “I was just admiring the—”

“Elio, I would be absolutely delighted if you’d play for us. I pay a man to come in and take care of this beautiful piano, and it’s a shame that nobody ever plays it.”

“You don’t play?” 

Millie laughs. “No, no. My children all played when they were very young, and my daughter Susan played until high school. Not so much anymore.”

“I think her kids do,” Oliver suggests, then shrugs. “It’s been a while.”

“Your cousin Leslie did for a bit, yes,” Millie nods. “None of them ever took it seriously,” she sighs and settles her hands on her hips, turning to Elio. “Oliver tells me that you are quite talented, and I understand I missed a very important performance not too long ago, I’d like to collect a rain check.”

Elio laughs, “Okay.”

————

Elio plays Liszt’s Liebesträume No. 3. Oliver knows he might be showing off, but the room has surprisingly good acoustics, and the piano sounds incredible. He’s had the privilege of hearing Elio play the piece before and remembers, with startling clarity, the way his breath caught in his chest as Elio’s fingers danced over the keys. 

Millie reaches over and folds her hand over the top of Oliver’s. He looks to her, but she’s watching Elio. The fingers of her other hand tap delicately against her thigh, her tempo matched perfectly to Elio’s. What she hadn’t said earlier was that she, too, had played as a child, but it was an expense her family couldn’t afford. She’d always wanted her children to take more interest in their lessons, to carry the music with them into adulthood, but they’d only ever considered it a casual hobby. 

“Stunning, absolutely beautiful!” Millie cheers when Elio finishes. She rises to her feet, clapping as Elio spins around on the bench. 

“Thank you,” Elio ducks his head, blushing furiously. He catches Oliver’s adoring smile and bites his lip. “I’m happy to play for you any time, Millie.”

“You be careful or I might just take you up on that,” Millie winks at him. 

————

“Now, Elio, I know you’re probably used to fine Italian cuisine,” Millie grins as she sets a tray of brisket down on the table, “But I do hope that my grandson has shown off all of the cooking skills he picked up from following me around the kitchen,” she nudges Oliver’s shoulder.

“Oliver cooks most of the time, actually,” Elio chuckles lightly. “Sometimes he lets me help, but I’m pretty useless.”

“No you’re not,” Oliver insists. He takes the serving fork out of the brisket tray and begins filling each of their plates. “You save me tons of time by chopping all those vegetables.” 

Elio snorts and quirks a brow at Millie. “I’ve recently graduated from carrots, celery, and onions. I am now permitted to assist with all vegetables and some fruits.”

Millie laughs, “Only some?”

“We had an incident with a pineapple,” Oliver smirks, gently kicking Elio’s foot under the table. 

“It was a slight miscalculation on my part-”

“It would have been a near death experience if I hadn’t noticed-”

“I wouldn’t have-”

Oliver laughs, “You _did_!”

“Well,” Elio fights back his smile, sips his drink, and nudges his foot against Oliver’s ankle. “I guess that’s why I’m only allowed to help with some.”

They both laugh and Oliver turns to say something to his grandmother, pausing when he finds her staring at Elio with a glint in her eyes and a fond smile. Elio, busy loading brisket onto his fork, doesn’t notice he’s the only one eating until he looks up with a mouth full of food and freezes. Oliver nearly doubles over with laughter when Elio’s eyes widen, his hand flying up to cover his mouth as he hurries to chew and swallow. 

“I’m sorry, I thought that we were— that was rude of me,” he rushes. His cheeks are pink again, and Oliver loves him, loves him, loves him. 

Millie’s brow furrows as she sits forward and lays her napkin over her lap. “Don’t be silly, dear, eat!” she turns to Oliver, “You, too, eat up!”

“Okay, okay,” Oliver grins. He steals at glance at Elio and winks. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

————

“I’ll wash, you dry?” Oliver suggests, getting up from the table.

Elio nods as Millie waves for both of them to sit. “You two just relax, I can handle all this.”

“Bubbe, you cooked,” Oliver squeezes her hand. “We’ll do the dishes.”

She gives him a put-upon look, but relents, waving them toward the kitchen with arms full of dishes. “I’ll need to put the leftovers into some Tupperware,” she notes, following closely behind.

Elio sets his dishes down and turns. “If you show me where it is, I can-”

Millie rubs his shoulder as she shuffles by to open a cabinet. “Help Oliver, dear. I’ll take care of it.”

While the water warms up, Oliver rolls up his sleeves and pulls a dish towel out of a drawer. Elio slides up and loops an arm low around his waist, squeezes tight, and tilts his head against Oliver’s shoulder. Oliver’s about to suggest that Elio roll up his sleeves or take off his watch — just in case — but Elio breaks his concentration when he turns his head, presses a kiss to the top of Oliver’s bicep and then turns back and leans into him again. Without thinking, Oliver bends and kisses the soft mop of Elio’s curls, nuzzles his cheek over the top of his head, and sways against him until Elio hugs him tighter, laughing quietly. 

“This one’s ready for the sink, boys,” Millie announces, setting an empty serving bowl on the counter. She pats Elio’s shoulder again and goes to finish putting the food away. 

Elio can feel Oliver’s body frozen beside him. Rigid where he’d been warm and loose just moments before. He moves his hand in a wide circle over the tense planes of Oliver’s back, slips his hand down his forearm, and links their fingers beneath the warm water streaming from the faucet. 

Oliver cups Elio’s hand in both of his own, squeezes once, and lets go. He gestures to the bowl on Elio’s left. “Hand me that?”

Elio looks to the side, grabs the bowl and hands it over, gasping, then laughing when Oliver swoops down and catches him in a kiss. He pushes up, smiling against Oliver’s lips, pressing a quick smack to his cheek and shaking his head. 

He nudges Oliver with his elbow, grinning as he waits to be handed a clean dish. 

Oliver shrugs. “Takes some getting used to.”

Elio nods, picks up the dish towel, and starts wiping down the plate Oliver’s passed him. “Just let me know what you need.”

“Pretty sure you already do,” Oliver murmurs. 

“Okay,” Millie places another bowl on the counter and sighs. “That should do it. I’m going to take Stanley outside in the yard to do his business.”

Oliver smiles over his shoulder. “We’ll finish up here and join you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she turns and claps her hands together. “Stanley! Come, let’s go outside.”

Stanley paws _tick-tick-tick_ over the tiles as he comes trotting down the hall. Millie leaves the room and moments later, Elio looks up and spots her through the window. He smiles when she tosses a ball and claps enthusiastically until Stanley brings it back to her. 

Oliver glances out the window and huffs a quiet laugh. “She loves that dog.”

“It’s nice that she has company,” Elio says. “Is your family nearby? Do they visit or-”

“They’re not far — maybe fifteen minutes away,” Oliver nods, not looking up from the pan he’s scouring. “I think mom comes by once or twice a week.”

“Oh,” Elio sets a glass aside and picks up another. “I didn’t realize they were so close.”

“Yep,” Oliver nods again. 

“Do you-”

“Elio, dear,” Millie suddenly calls from the next room. “Would you give me a hand with something?”

Oliver looks at him and shrugs. 

“Of course,” Elio replies, trying to keep the sudden nerves out of his voice. “Just a moment,” he wipes his hands on the dish towel and bites his lip. 

“She’s not gonna bite you,” Oliver laughs. 

Elio shushes him with a lingering kiss, squeezing his ass and slapping it before he spins away with a smirk. 

“You’ll pay for it,” Oliver calls after him.

“I hope so.”

Oliver goes back to scrubbing dishes, making sure each piece is spotless before setting it aside on the pile to be dried. He looks out the window and spies Elio crawling beneath the patio set to retrieve Stanley’s ball. He stands, holding it over his head triumphantly as Stanley goes hurdling across the lawn in anticipation. 

Another dish set aside, another into the water. When Oliver looks up again, Millie has her arm linked through the crook of Elio’s elbow and is strolling him across the lawn. They pause in front of a large tree that grows in the far left corner. The branches loom over the fence and into the neighbor’s yard on one side, but it’s never been a problem. Oliver’s cousins used to climb that tree when they were children. He was always too young, too small, too slow. Never allowed to join them. He remembers being desperate for the day he’d be able to climb the tree at bubbe’s house — like doing so would finally put him in league with the idolized cousins that always left him behind. By the time he was finally tall enough to reach the first branch on his own, the big kids didn’t care about the tree any more. It was his grandmother who’d watched and applauded as he’d pulled and scrambled his way to the top. He smiles at the memory of his scraped knees and splintered palms, turns the faucet off, and dries the remaining dishes. 

————

Oliver turns off the bathroom light and pulls the door behind him. He walks down the hall toward the room he and Elio are sharing, pausing just outside the door. He places one hand on the banister and leans over it gently, listening for any sounds from downstairs. The house is dark and quiet, all shades of grey and midnight blue in the thin moonlight. 

When he opens the bedroom door, Elio is pacing back and forth in front of the bed. 

“What’s wrong?” Oliver frowns, closing the door quietly.

“No- Nothing. You just took a while and I was getting-” he stuffs his hands under his arms, hugs his bare chest. 

Oliver’s lips quirk. “Getting?”

Elio drops his hands and his whole body slumps forward. He shuffles close and plants the top of his head against Oliver’s sternum, “Can we go to bed?”

“Yeah,” Oliver pushes Elio’s shoulders back until he turns and crawls onto the mattress, slipping beneath the blanket and holding it up for Oliver to climb under. “Okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Elio curls against him, tangles their legs together. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Oliver pulls him closer, “You don’t have to thank me,” he says softly. “I wanted you to meet her.”

“I’m glad,” Elio presses his words into the hollow of Oliver’s throat. 

“What did the two of you talk about?” he asks, fingers trailing over Elio’s back. 

“Oh,” Elio shrugs. “Nothing really. She was just giving me a little tour of her garden.” He yawns and settles deeper against Oliver’s side. “Told me if I hurt you, she’d bury my body beneath the tree way in the back.” Oliver guffaws and Elio quickly claps a palm over his mouth to shush him. “You’ll wake your grandmother!” he whispers urgently. 

“She’s downstairs,” Oliver laughs, peeling his hand away. “And both of our doors are closed.”

Elio heaves a great sigh and settles again. He traces a wide circle over Oliver’s chest before asking, hesitantly, “Are you sure you don’t want to visit your parents? You two can go and I can wait here or-”

“No,” Oliver whispers, curling onto his side. He kisses Elio’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “I’d have the same answer if I were visiting alone, so I don’t want you to worry about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Elio nods. “Feels strange to be sleeping in pants,” he mutters a moment later.

Oliver snorts, “Well, we can change that.”

“What if your grandmother comes in here?” Elio grimaces. 

“I promise you, she is not coming in here to spy on us while we sleep.” 

“I think I can survive a weekend,” Elio hums. “We can make up for lost time once we get back home.”

————

The sun peeks through the curtains, slants across the floor, the sheets. Slips warm over his skin until Oliver finally pries his eyes open. He stretches his arms and finds the other side of the bed is cool and empty. With a frown, Oliver props up on his elbows and glances around the room. 

“Elio?” he whispers, hoarsely. 

The bedroom door is closed, and he doesn’t want to shout. He climbs out of bed and rummages around for a t-shirt, tugging it on as he heads into the hall. The bathroom is empty, but there’s water running and the clatter of plates coming from the kitchen. Oliver hurriedly brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face. 

Stanley greets him at the bottom of the stairs. His tail swishes happily as he dances in slow circles. Oliver ducks to scratch his ears and rump, and the dog promptly spins to lavish sloppy kisses all over his wrists. He laughs and pats Stanley’s head. “Shall we go find Elio?” he asks, softly. 

In the kitchen, Elio and Millie stand side by side at the island countertop. Elio, cradling a large mixing bowl against his body, is clutching a whisk and closely staring at a written recipe as Millie reads it aloud. 

He is also wearing the sunshine yellow _Bubbe’s Kitchen_ apron that Oliver and his cousins proudly presented to her for Chanukah when they were children. 

“Now,” Millie points at the paper and then to the whisk in Elio’s hand. “Like I said, you don’t need a mixer, it just makes it faster. Since you don’t know if you have one at home, we’re going to do it this way so you’ll know what to do.”

“We can get one at home,” Oliver can’t help himself. He folds his lips, trying to hold back the enormous grin from overtaking his face when Elio’s eyes snap up to find his. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, darling,” Millie pats Elio on the shoulder. “Stay just there, dear,” she shuffles around to the coffee she’s had ready on the stove. “Oliver, what can I get for you?”

Oliver shakes his head. “Don’t let me interrupt, Bubbe,” he takes the coffee pot from her and pulls a mug down from the cabinet. “I can do this.”

“All right, well let me get you the milk,” she relents, heading over to the fridge.

“Sure,” Oliver nods, filling his mug. He slides up behind Elio and pecks him on the cheek. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Elio’s smile is unexpectedly shy. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What are you making?” Oliver sets his mug on the counter and peers into the bowl. “Bubbe, is this my cake?” he reaches a finger toward the bowl, but Millie is suddenly beside him, handing him the milk and nudging him away. 

“Yes it is, and no dipping in the bowl, Oliver,” she lectures. “You’re a big boy now.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Millie sings. “You know the rules: You keep your fingers away and you can lick the whisk.”

Elio snorts and catches Oliver’s eye as he backs away with his hands raised. 

“I like your apron,” Oliver grins. 

“Oh,” Elio looks down at himself, blushing. “Your grandmother insisted—”

“Well, it tends to splatter,” Millie explains. “You’ll want to mix it together now, dear.”

“Like this?” Elio gently turns the whisk through the batter, careful not to let it spill over the edges of the bowl.

Millie nods. “You could do it a bit faster. It’s nearly there.”

Bracing the bowl against his front, Elio mixes quickly until Millie taps him again. 

“Perfect, see,” Millie winks at him and takes the whisk. “It should be shiny and smooth, just like this. No clumps.”

“No clumps,” Elio repeats, trying to memorize the consistency, the sheen. 

“It’s okay if it’s not perfect the first time,” she chuckles, handing the whisk back. “I’ll get the pan. You can give this to Oliver now.”

“Thank you,” Oliver grins broadly when Elio passes the batter coated whisk over to him. “So what brought this on?” he asks, then pokes his tongue out and licks a dollop from between the wires. 

Elio lets himself stare for only a few seconds, more than is appropriate. More than he should. He clears his throat and forces himself to look away and find the next step in the recipe. Do anything but think about Oliver and his tongue while standing in Millie’s kitchen. 

“Well,” Millie comes back with the cake pan and a spatula. “We were chatting about what to do for breakfast, and Elio said he’d like to be able to cook something at home that you’d enjoy,” she sets her hands on her hips and sighs, smiling. “So, I thought I’d teach him how to make this chocolate cake that you love so much,” she cups the side of Elio’s head, combing his curls gently. 

“Promise to do my best,” Elio laughs quietly. “I’m sure yours will always be the favorite.”

“Well,” she wraps an arm around him in a half hug and Elio briefly tips his head to touch hers. “I’m glad to pass the recipe along to someone who loves my grandson.”

Oliver doesn’t know what to do with the overwhelming wave of emotion in his chest. “Thank you, Bubbe,” he nods and hopes she understands that he means _for accepting me, for accepting him. For everything_. 

“Okay, Elio,” Millie claps her hands together. “Let’s get this cake into the oven. Here,” she hands him the spatula. “Just, yes like that. Right into the pan.”

Elio works at spreading the batter around evenly, then leveling it off. When he’s done, he passes the spatula over to Oliver’s outstretched hand and follows Millie over to the oven. 

“Slide it right onto the wrack there,” she instructs. “And now we set the timer. I’ve already pre-heated it, but that part will be written down for you, so don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Elio nods as Millie closes the oven door. “So… we did it?”

Millie laughs. “We did. Here, let me take this,” she nudges him until she can reach to untie the apron from his back. “Oliver, can I get you something to eat?”

Oliver’s response is a garbled noise as he continues to lick the spatula clean.

“Oh, _Oliver_ ,” Millie waves at him to stop. She walks over and tries to take the whisk and spatula away, only to have Oliver stand up and hold them out of her reach. 

“I’m not,” he licks a glob off the back of the spatula. “Done.”

“No cake for breakfast,” Millie insists, laughing as she pokes her grandson’s armpits.

Oliver drops his arms and turns away, snorting with laughter as he hunches over to get just one more lick before letting Millie win. 

“Oy, my god, it’s like you’re still ten years old,” Millie shakes her head, chuckling as she walks over and dumps everything into the sink. Oliver follows her, sticking his hands under the faucet to pick up a dish and yelping when Millie squirts at him with the side sprayer.

Elio leans against the counter giggling helplessly as he watches them carry on. He’s seen Oliver at his best and worst, and though he’s much more at ease than ever before, it’s still somewhat rare for him to be this carefree with anyone else. 

It’s a moment or two before Elio notices her. It can’t have been more than that, only she’s standing so still. So rigid in the kitchen’s entry way. He stiffens as her gaze travels over him, a slow appraisal from the top of his head right down to his bare toes. Her cool, blue eyes are unnervingly familiar and alien at the same time. He feels as though he’s been weighed and valued, his assessment questionable. 

He tries not to fidget as she scans back up again. Notes the impeccably pressed lines of her pale grey pants, the soft and unblemished matching cashmere sweater. His fingers curl around the frayed cuff of the Columbia sweatshirt he threw on this morning, too large and obviously Oliver’s. Before her eyes come back to his, she turns, finds the back of her son’s head. 

They both call for him at the same time, and Elio finds it strangely exhilarating when Oliver turns to him first. But then he sees the change — the way Oliver’s face pinches, how his back straightens and his muscles seem to tense. 

“Judith,” Millie turns off the faucet and grabs a towel. “I didn’t know you were dropping by, dear.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t realize you were having guests,” she smiles tightly and bends to return Millie’s embrace. “Hello, Oliver.”

Oliver spares one more look at Elio and pushes away from the counter. “Mom,” he presses a polite kiss to her cheek and backs away. 

“It’s nice to see you,” she reaches up and pushes his hair away from his eyes. “You look well.”

“Thank you,” Oliver nods. “I have been.” He turns and reaches for Elio’s hand, sliding his arm around his shoulders as he approaches. “Elio, this is my mother, Judith. Mom, this is Elio Perlman.”

Elio hesitates for a beat before extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he smiles and hopes, if only for Oliver’s sake, that she meets him with some degree of kindness.

“Likewise, Elio,” Judith’s hand is smooth and firm in his. 

“Well,” Millie shuffles around them. “Judy, we were just discussing what to do for breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“No, but I shouldn’t really—”

“Oh, nonsense,” Millie waves her hands. “Perhaps the boys can take a ride and go pick us up some bagels.” She turns to Oliver, squeezes his arm and winks. “What do you think, darling?”

Oliver looks warily between his mother and grandmother. “Sure, Bubbe. That sounds good.”

“Wonderful,” Millie beams, and hooks her arm through Judith’s. “And, Elio, don’t you worry, I’ll keep an eye on cake.”

“Oh, yes,” Elio smiles crookedly, “Thanks.”

————

In the bedroom, as they change clothes, Elio struggles to find something to say, but comes up empty. Oliver is a quiet riddle of weak smiles and stiff movements. There’s a heavy, worried wrinkle in his brow. In the car, as he leans to buckle his seatbelt, Elio reaches up and smooths his fingers over Oliver’s forehead until the furrow there starts to relax. He knows it’ll come back as soon as they’re in the house again, but for now, at least this.

“Are you okay?”

Oliver sighs. “I just didn’t expect her, that’s all.”

“It would’ve happened eventually,” Elio reasons. “Perhaps it’s better to be getting it over with.”

“Yeah,” Oliver nods, closes his eyes and leans forward to touch his forehead to Elio’s. “I just don’t want her to ruin the rest of our time here.”

Elio wants to tell him that it’ll be fine, but he has no idea what to expect. He tips his head back and presses a kiss high on Oliver’s cheek. “We should get going.”

————

The errand itself doesn’t take long, but on the drive back, Oliver takes them on a detour. He shows Elio the house he grew up in, his elementary school, the synagogue where he was bar mitzvahed. Elio commits as many details as he can to memory. Wishes they had time to get out and walk around. 

“Another day,” Oliver promises. Picks up his hand and kisses the back of it. “We can always come back.”

Oliver lets them into the house and holds out a hand for Elio’s coat. 

“Where’s Stanley?” Elio wonders quietly.

“Probably in his bed in my grandmother’s room,” Oliver snorts. “He slunk off while you two were baking. He does that when he realizes he’s not being fed.”

Elio nods. “Smart dog.”

They find Millie and Judith sipping coffee at the table. 

“Was it crowded?” Millie asks. 

“Not too bad,” Oliver shrugs and takes the bag from Elio’s hands. “Do you still have that big basket, or should we just pick from the bag?”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to make a fuss,” Millie gestures for them both to sit. “Did you remember to get me a—”

“A bialy?” Oliver smirks at her. “What kind of grandson do you take me for?” He sets the bag of bagels down and removes the various spreads, opening the lids and setting them out on the table. “That should do it.”

As everyone begins to serve themselves, Elio pours himself a cup of coffee, reaches for the empty cup in front of Oliver, and fills that as well. He feels Judith’s eyes on him as he adds a touch of milk and sets the cup back at Oliver’s plate. As Oliver’s hand closes over his wrist and squeezes. The simple gesture of thanks somehow magnified under such seemingly intense scrutiny. 

They eat quietly and Elio finds himself longing for the chaotic drudgery of his parents’ mealtimes. He wonders if this is how Oliver spent his childhood, and the thought makes his chest ache. 

Finally, Judith clears her throat and looks across the table. “So, Elio, what do you do?”

Beside him, Oliver stills. Looks like he wants to say something, but keeps his mouth closed and only stares quietly across the table at his mother. Elio hooks his ankle around Oliver’s and smiles as lightly as he can. “I’m pursuing my doctorate in Composition at Columbia,” he says. 

“Elio’s a wonderfully talented pianist,” Millie adds. “He played a beautiful Liszt piece for us yesterday.”

“He played at Carnegie Hall a few months ago, as well,” Oliver looks at him proudly, and Elio blushes. 

“Well, that’s lovely,” Judith nods. “And do you also work, or is my son supporting you?”

Elio’s mouth drops open as Oliver’s head shoots up, eyes wide and furious, “ _Mom—_ ”

Millie scowls at her. “Judy, there’s no need to—”

“Mother, I’ve asked you not to call me that, and honestly, I don’t see why it’s such a difficult question,” she looks between Oliver and Elio and back again. “You’re living together, are you not?”

“Elio, you don’t have to—”

“We do live together,” Elio nods, puts his hand on Oliver’s knee. “And I teach private piano lessons. I started when I was an undergraduate at Juilliard, so I’ve managed to build up a nice roster of students. It’s surprisingly steady work,” he smiles. “Since the Carnegie shows, I’ve also been booked for several performances, which has been wonderful.” Oliver’s hand finds his beneath the table and Elio takes a breath and squeezes it. “I contribute as much as I have — as much as I can.”

“Columbia and Juilliard,” Judith’s brows lift slightly. “That’s impressive _and_ expensive.”

“Christ,” Oliver mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, they are,” Elio huffs, the corner of his lips quirking up. “I’m also incredibly lucky to have parents who’ve always been willing to help me. Thankfully, it’s been a while since I’ve had to ask, though.”

Judith stares at him, her eyes icy and sharp. “I’m sure they must be quite proud.”

Elio smiles. “I hope so.”

“They are,” Oliver says, eyeing his mother angrily. Elio gently taps his foot beneath the table and Oliver nudges him back in kind. 

“Well, it’s nice of you two to pay a visit,” Judith continues, nonplussed. 

Millie smiles. “I’ve been delighted to have them — they’re wonderful houseguests,” she pats Oliver’s arm. “I’d love for them to visit me every weekend.”

“We’ll make it a point to come up more often, Bubbe,” Oliver promises. 

They continue to make efforts at conversation throughout the rest of the meal, though with the exception of a few pleasant moments, things remain mostly stilted and chilly. As they’re finishing up, Millie rises to start gathering dishes from the table, and Elio hurries out of his chair to help. 

“Oh,” Judith startles. “Mom, I can help with—”

“No, no—” Millie waves at her as she stacks their plates together. “And you, too, Elio. Sit. I can manage this.”

Elio shakes his head, wiping his face quickly with his napkin and collecting it with his plate and scraps. “I’m finished anyway. I can help with the dishes.” He smiles at Oliver, who scowls at him. “Can I take this?”

Oliver huffs, nodding slightly. He sits back and squeezes Elio’s hand as he reaches for his plate, “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Elio looks over the table for anything else he can pick up, grabs the paper bag holding the remainder of the bagels and smiles. 

“Can we get anyone anything else?” Millie asks.

Judith shakes her head quietly. “No, thank you.”

“I’m fine,” Oliver smiles tightly. 

Elio tips his head toward the kitchen, and starts walking backward, following Millie through the door. “I’ll just be—”

Judith sniffs, eyes drifting around the room as she slowly drums her fingers on the tablecloth. Oliver recognizes the pattern from the quiet dinners of his childhood. Her neatly french manicured nails dropping over the white embroidered linen. Tap roll tap roll. His father glaring at her hand as he tried to read the paper. 

Oliver rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. “So, how have you been? How’s dad?”

She stills, folds one hand over the other and stares at him, brows lifting in mock surprise. “We’re both just fine, dear,” she fiddles with the back of her earring. “We have your father’s birthday brunch coming up in a few weeks, I’m sure you’re aware.”

Oliver grits his teeth and sighs through his nose. “I am.”

“We’d love to have you there,” Judith hedges. “If you can find the time, of course.”

“Does that invitation extend to Elio?” Oliver meets her impassive stare with one of his own. 

Judith purses her lips. Her nostrils flare slightly as she turns away. “Don’t make a fuss, Oliver.”

His first impulse is to snap back at her. Lash out angrily and let this whole thing dissolve into the same shouting match they always have. He curls his hands into tight fists then releases them. Breathes. “It was a simple question, Mom.”

Her eyes snap back to his. “Oh, Oliver, don’t be ridiculous. You know very well that I can’t invite you and your—” she gestures vaguely toward the kitchen door. “Him to the house. What would your father say?”

“I don’t care what my father would say,” Oliver shrugs. “Did you tell Aunt Susan not to bring Uncle Lenny? Or ask Leslie to leave Adam and the kids home?”

“That’s not the same thing,” she mutters. “And believe me, if I could tell Leslie to leave those ill-behaved terrors at home without my sister giving me tsuris, I would.”

Oliver twists his mouth to the side to fight back his amusement. “Maybe you should worry less about upsetting other people,” he suggests. “It’s incredibly freeing.”

“Yes, well, we can’t all be as free as you are, dear,” she sniffs and straightens the cuffs of her blouse. 

Shaking his head slightly, Oliver sighs. “I won’t attend a party that I’m not truly welcome at, Mom. And I’m not certainly not coming without my— partner,” he hesitates a bit over the last word. It feels so insignificant, but there’s nothing more appropriate he can think to say in front of his mother. 

“So,” Judith turns her palms up and back down again. “Does this mean we’ll just never see you, then? You can’t make any time for the rest of your family?”

“That’s not what I said. Don’t twist my words around.”

A pained look flashes across her face. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“I honestly have no idea.” Oliver confesses, “You’ve never seemed particularly thrilled to see me, so I don’t know why this upsets you.”

“I—” Judith’s mouth opens and closes. “Is that really what you think?”

Oliver shrugs helplessly. “What else should I have thought?”

Judith looks away, seems about to say something more, but instead, she gets up from the table and heads toward the back door. 

“Mom,” Oliver calls after her, but she ignores him, opening the door and stepping out into the yard. Exasperated, he takes a deep breath and blows it out. He closes his eyes and sits there for a moment before getting up and following her.

Judith stands at the end of the small brick patio, staring silently into the empty yard. She says nothing as Oliver approaches, stops beside her, and slips his hands into his pockets. 

“You always preferred your grandparents,” Judith murmurs. She shivers, hugging herself against the chilly air. “At home you were such a quiet child. It used to frighten me that you never seemed happy. The only time you’d brighten up was when we brought you here,” she sighs. “I just assumed you didn’t like me. And as long as they could make you smile, they might as well.”

Oliver doesn’t know what to make of this. He’d always felt unwelcome in his home as a child. Unwanted, even. Oftentimes better to be seen and never heard. He can’t remember either of his parents ever attempting to draw him out, sit with him, play with him. There’s only the sharp emptiness that he associates with his parents’ home. His father’s stern voice and cruel words. His mother’s cold indifference.

“I suppose I just felt safer here,” Oliver admits. “I was more at home.”

She nods and lifts a shoulder. “So it seems.”

“I was a kid, Mom,” Oliver turns toward her. “What did you expect?”

“That at some point, it would get easier,” she laments. “Better? I don’t know, Oliver. It wasn’t like I’d had any prior experience, and I certainly had no help from your father; you know he’s— well.”

“You had bubbe,” Oliver suggests. “She would have—”

Judith snorts. “Oliver, I know you love your grandmother, but my relationship with her is not yours. I’m sure you know that. She never liked your father, and she’s never let me forget that she didn’t want me to marry him.”

Oliver tries to bite his tongue, but his mother has never been this frank with him. “Why did you?”

Her head snaps toward his. “Because I was young and in love, dear,” she rolls her eyes, shakes her head slightly as she turns away again. “At least I thought I was. That much, I’d imagine, you should understand.”

She’s quiet for a bit and Oliver lets her be, unsure of how to respond or where they go from here. He looks back at the house and spies Elio watching them through the kitchen window. His face is creased with worry. Oliver smiles as best he can and hopes it eases some of his concern. A moment later, his grandmother appears at Elio’s side, her hand delicately cupping his shoulder as she seems to call him away, and he hesitantly follows. 

“He does seem to care a great deal,” Judith says and Oliver startles. He turns back, and his mother is watching him curiously. “You’re not at all concerned that he’s—”

“A man?”

“Oliver, please,” Judith huffs in annoyance. “He’s so young. You were off galavanting around the world at his age. Who knows how many beds you wound up in.”

“You’d be surprised, actually,” Oliver smirks. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to know,” she mutters. 

Oliver sighs. “It’s not something I’m worried about.”

She purses her lips. “For the record, the fact that he’s a man is neither here nor there. I won’t pretend I understand it, but it’s your business. It’s the nineties, for goodness sake, I’m not blind.”

At that, Oliver can’t help but chuckle, “Oh, come on, Mom. The way you were interrogating him in there—”

“You’re my only child, Oliver!” she nearly shouts. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did because I was foolish and too proud to admit I was wrong.”

“You’ve never done that with any other—”

“The only _partner_ you’ve ever brought home was Kimberley, and I’ve known that girl since she was in diapers,” she argues. “I’m simply looking out for you. Pardon me for my concern.”

“I can’t help but notice how that concern doesn’t seem to extend to welcoming him, though,” Oliver counters. “You know, something that might actually make me happy.”

Judith throws up her hands. “What do you want from me, Oliver? Your father would be absolutely impossible, I can’t—” she shakes her head and turns to face him fully. “I don’t want to fight with you about this.”

“Then—”

She puts out a hand and Oliver holds his tongue. “You know how your father is and why I can’t invite you both to the house. You know that.”

Oliver nods mutely and waits for her to continue.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to have a relationship with you,” she insists. “If I have to come to you, or if we have to gather here, then that’s what we’ll do. If you’re willing.”

“And Elio?” 

“Yes, Elio, too,” she assures him. “And of course, I’ll need to meet his parents, as well.”

Oliver snorts, “All right, now I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself.”

“Why, what’s wrong with them?” Judith frowns as she starts to head back toward the house. 

“Absolutely nothing, they’re wonderful people,” Oliver shrugs.

“Then why don’t you want me to meet them?”

“Let’s take things one step at a time and see how it goes,” he walks alongside her. “Elio has a performance at the end of next month. Would you like to come? We can go to dinner, and you’re welcome to stay—”

“I think that would be nice,” she smiles, and Oliver’s surprised to notice that he’s never seen this look on his mother’s face before. “I’m sure your grandmother would love to see him perform as well, seeing as she’s so smitten. I’d like to bring her along, if that’s all right. We wouldn’t impose on your home, though. I’ll just book us a room at that hotel I like.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing, but if you prefer the hotel, that’s fine.” He opens the door and holds it aside for her. Stanley greets them happily and wanders off toward the kitchen with a glance behind to see if they’re following him. 

“Oh, did it finally get too chilly out there for you two?” Millie calls as they walk through the kitchen door. 

“Just about,” Oliver smiles. 

Millie nods approvingly. “Well, you’re just in time for cake, so why don’t you and Elio go put these out on the table, and your mother and I will get some fresh coffee ready,” she hands Oliver a stack of plates. “Elio, you can take those cups and saucers over there.”

“Of course,” Elio smiles and follows Oliver into the dining room. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly as they lay the dishes on the table.

Oliver nods, “Surprisingly, yes.”

“Oh,” Elio eyes him, uncertain. “That’s good, right? I mean—”

“It is, yeah, just unexpected,” Oliver shrugs. “I’ll tell you about it later when—” he waves toward the kitchen.

“Of course,” Elio nods. “And I don’t want to pry or—” he shrugs a shoulder. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll—”

“You’re definitely not prying,” Oliver assures him. “I invited her to your concert next month.”

Elio’s brows lift as he places the last cup down and circles around to Oliver’s side of the table. “Does she want to come?”

“She says she does,” Oliver shrugs. “Wants to bring my grandmother, too.”

“Okay,” he nods. “When we get back I’ll call and make sure I can get their tickets comped and—”

“No, no,” Oliver frowns, shaking his head. “I’ll pay for them. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“I appreciate it, but you don’t need to do that,” Oliver puts an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. “Thank you.”

Elio leans in, tilts his head up, and smiles when Oliver meets him for a kiss. The kitchen door swings open and they jump apart, Elio’s lips curl into a knowing smile, and he squeezes Oliver’s hand. 

————

The rest of the afternoon passes uneventfully. They finish dessert over only slightly awkward small talk. Oliver can tell that his mother is making an effort to engage with both he and Elio. He responds in kind, both hesitant and hopeful that this might be a real turning point in their relationship.

As the day winds down, they all move to start clearing the table. Millie heads into the kitchen and Oliver follows, assuming Elio is just behind him. He sets the dishes down in the sink, turns on the faucet, and reaches back to take Elio’s plates before realizing he isn’t there. Oliver frowns and turns off the water. He spins around and has the sinking realization that he’s left Elio alone with his mother. 

He’s nearly across the room when Millie grabs his sleeve. Oliver looks at her pleadingly, but she merely shakes her head and holds her finger to her lips. She points first to her ear and then to the kitchen door. “Just give her a chance,” she whispers, reaching up to pet his hair. “She’s trying.”

Oliver takes a quiet step closer to the door and leans into it, but doesn’t hear anything. He casts a worried look at his grandmother, but she’s gone back to the sink to start working on the dishes. Oliver sighs. He knows Elio is perfectly capable of holding his own, so he decides to give his mother the benefit of the doubt and hope for the best. 

————

Elio surveys the table, collects the used napkins, and drops them onto his plate. He gathers the remaining forks and knives and feels Judith watching him as he inspects his coffee cup. 

“May I take that?” he nods toward the cup she’s pushed slightly away from herself. 

“Oh,” she startles and rises from her seat. She pushes her chair, and the one beside her, in close to the table and looks for something to do. 

“It’s okay,” Elio smiles, gathering the stack of dishes. “I’ve got it.”

“Would you—” Judith reaches out and then withdraws. 

Her expression is difficult to read, but it makes Elio pause. He sets the plates back down and nods minutely. 

“I’d like to apologize for the way I spoke to you earlier,” she says matter of factly. 

Elio’s brows lift, unable to hide his surprise, “Apology accepted.”

Judith nods and rests her hands on the backs of the chairs. “I hope you’ll allow me the opportunity to make it up to you—”

“It’s really not necessary—” Elio shakes his head.

“No, I think it is,” she counters. “It may be difficult for you to believe, but I do love my son, and I want him to be happy.”

“It’s not difficult for me to believe,” Elio meets her gaze evenly. “I want the same thing, because I love him, too.”

“Yes, well,” Judith looks away. Fidgets with the back of her earring. “It seems we have that in common then.”

“Seems we do,” Elio agrees. He watches her eyes flit around the room for a moment. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“You’re not,” that cool, blue stare comes back to him quickly. “I’m sorry, Elio, I’m just not— it’ll take some getting used to.”

He nods, “I understand.”

She looks anxiously toward the kitchen door. “Will he?”

“I can’t answer that,” Elio tells her softly. “The only thing either of you can do is try.”

“Yes,” she tilts her head. “You seem wise for your age, has anyone ever told you that?”

Elio twists his mouth to the side and collects the dishes again. “It’s been mentioned.”

————

Standing outside by her car, Oliver watches his mother look at him hesitantly and is unsure what she’s waiting for. He’s about to give up and say an awkward goodbye when she steps forward and reaches her arms up to embrace him. He stiffens at first, bends to meet her, hugs her, and lets her slip away with a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“Oh, no, there’s lipstick—” she thumbs at his cheek and Oliver snorts, swats her hand away. “I suppose it’s been a very long time since we’ve done this.”

“A few years,” he acknowledges. “We have to start again somewhere, though.”

“Right,” Judith pats his arm. “I’m glad to have seen you, and though you may not believe it, I am glad to see you doing well,” she smiles. “Happy.”

Oliver nods. “I believe you,” he leans in and kisses her cheek. “Bye, Mom. I’ll see you soon.”

————

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Oliver rinses off his razor, dips to kiss Elio’s shoulder, and opens the shower door. “Going to bed?”

“Mm, in a minute,” Elio nods, “I’ll leave a light on for you.”

“Thanks,” Oliver turns the water on and pulls the door closed behind him. 

Elio brushes his teeth and washes his face. He’s about to slip out of the bathroom, but turns and glimpses the blur of Oliver’s naked form through the foggy, mottled glass. The slow burn of arousal unfurls in his chest, down his spine, in his belly. The weight of it settling between his thighs as he watches the indistinct planes of Oliver’s body move beneath the water. He checks to make sure the bathroom door is locked and quickly strips out of his sweatpants and boxers. 

Oliver startles when the shower door opens, but smiles when Elio steps under the spray before him. “Thought we were waiting until we got home,” he teases, licking water off his lips. 

“Well,” Elio shrugs lightly and moves in closer, tips his face up, and presses his mouth to Oliver’s jaw. “You had a trying day.”

“Do you think so?” Oliver murmurs with a tiny smirk. He tilts his head to the side as Elio’s tongue follows a path up to his ear, sucks the lobe between his teeth and bites gently. Oliver hisses, both hands sliding down to cup Elio’s ass and pull their bodies flush to one another. 

Elio hums and kisses his cheek, wraps his arms around Oliver’s neck, and seeks his mouth. Kisses him breathless. Elio gasps when Oliver’s wet fingers slip between his cheeks. He pushes forward, grinding his cock against Oliver’s thigh, then pulls back, panting, “Wait, wait.” 

Oliver licks at the corner of Elio’s lips. Smirks a little as the tip of his finger slips in and out of Elio’s hole. “Something wrong?”

Burying a whimper in Oliver’s armpit, Elio rolls against him, then hisses. He lifts his head and plants his hands on Oliver’s shoulders. “Can you keep quiet?”

“You’re asking _me_?” Oliver teases. “What did you have in mind?”

Elio smooths a hand down Oliver’s chest, over his belly, fists his cock and gives him two quick strokes. He grins when Oliver clutches the back of his neck, stifling a groan into his hair. Waits until Oliver’s grip loosens, presses a soft kiss to his chin, and slowly sinks down to his knees. Looks up at him as he leans in and sucks a trail of hot kisses down the length of his shaft.

Oliver gasps, one hand fisting tightly into Elio’s wet hair as the other plants firmly against the tile. He sighs when Elio’s lips close over the head of his cock, tongue stroking against the sensitive spot underneath before taking him all the way down. Swallowing around him and holding still as Oliver’s fingers toy with the curls at his nape. As he thrusts lightly into his throat. 

Elio squeezes Oliver’s hip. Pulls back and strokes him as he looks up with a lazy smile. He leans in again, takes the head of Oliver’s cock between his lips and sucks hard as he pumps his shaft. Swipes his tongue over and into his slit and hums when Oliver grunts. When his hips push against Elio’s hand. Oliver wills himself to stay quiet. Stares, mesmerized at the beads of water that have collected in the fan of Elio’s eyelashes. Braces himself against the wall as Elio picks up the pace, stroking and sucking him until Oliver’s tipping over the edge. One hand flailing for Elio’s shoulder and the other tightening in his hair, holding him still as he empties himself. 

As Oliver catches his breath, Elio rises to his feet. His face is the picture of smug satisfaction, and Oliver can’t help but to reach for him. To chase the taste of himself from Elio’s mouth. He turns them slowly, pulling Elio’s back to his chest. Slides one palm over the pale span of Elio’s belly while the other curves around the smooth column of his neck. 

Elio reaches back, settles both hands on Oliver’s ass, and pulls him closer. Rubs his ass over Oliver’s spent cock and sighs. Oliver’s hand drifts lower, curls around Elio’s shaft, and strokes him from root to tip. Elio gasps and tips his head back. “Kiss me,” he pleads quietly. 

Oliver licks into his mouth, kisses him. Swallows his moans and strokes him faster. 

It’s not long before Elio’s bucking into his fist, rising onto the balls of his feet as he spills into Oliver’s hand. He sags against Oliver’s chest, and they sway slightly beneath the shower. 

“We should get out of here,” Elio murmurs after a minute or two. “Your grandmother’s going to wonder why the water’s been running so long.”

“M’kay,” Oliver sighs and reaches around him to turn the water off. 

Elio opens the shower door and grabs two towels from the rack. He hands one to Oliver and starts drying himself off. “I’ll go back to the bedroom so we don’t have to sneak—”

Oliver snorts. “I promise you, she’s not watching the door.”

“Humor me?” Elio begs quietly. “She likes me, and I plan to keep it that way.”

“She’d still like you, but go on,” Oliver kisses his forehead. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

————

“You asleep?” Oliver whispers as he crawls into bed.

“No,” Elio rolls over, curling around him immediately. “What time do you want to head out tomorrow?”

Oliver hums quietly, draws his fingers over Elio’s back. “Late morning? We can have breakfast with my grandmother and start driving. I need to return the car once we get back to the city and would like to avoid as much traffic as we can.”

Elio nods against his shoulder. “M’kay.”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Mmhm,” Elio mumbles. “No traffic. Wake me when you get up?”

Oliver huffs quietly and brushes his lips against Elio’s hair, “I will.”

————

“You boys sure you have everything?” Millie asks again. She peers into the shopping bag she’s packing and fusses with the containers. “I’m sure I can fit one more—”

“Bubbe, we have plenty,” Oliver assures her. 

“Are you sure?” she rearranges things again. “I can give you some more cake. Elio?”

“I think we’re okay, but thank you,” Elio smiles. 

Millie huffs, “If you insist.” She fusses with the bag for a moment more and then looks up and peers around the kitchen. “Have you said goodbye to Stanley?” she frets. “You know he gets so blue.”

Oliver bites back his smile. “We did after breakfast, Bubbe. I think he’s hiding out in your bedroom.”

“Okay, then,” she sighs.

“I’ll bring this out,” Elio lifts the bag of food off the counter. “Be right back.”

“I think that’s everything,” Oliver nods as Millie does another round of the kitchen. 

“All right,” she walks over to him. Oliver smiles when she links her arm through his, slowly walking them out of the kitchen and into the hall. “It’s been so nice having you both here.” 

“I’m glad we made the trip,” Oliver turns as they approach the front door. He hugs her tightly. “I meant what I said yesterday — we’re going to visit more often.” 

“Please do,” Millie reaches up to cup his cheeks and Oliver bends so she can kiss them. She looks out toward the car at Elio and grins. “And thank you for introducing me to the man you love,” Millie pats Oliver’s cheek. “He’s a darling.”

Oliver blushes and ducks his head. 

“All set,” Elio interrupts politely. 

Millie lets Oliver go and turns to lift her arms toward Elio. “Your turn,” she waves her hands until Elio bends to embrace her. 

“Thank you for having me,” Elio says quietly. “I can’t wait to come back and visit again.”

“Oh,” Millie squeezes him happily. “You’re welcome any time, dear.” She kisses his cheek and pulls away. “And I so look forward to seeing you play next month!”

“Yes,” Elio nods cheerfully. “I’m glad you’ll be there.”

She hugs Oliver once more. “You boys travel safely, all right?”

“We will, Bubbe,” Oliver promises as they head out. “I’ll call you when we get home.”

“Yes, please do.”

She waves until they’ve pulled out of the driveway. Oliver smiles when he notices Elio waving back to her. “She’s done that all my life.”

“It’s sweet,” Elio waves to her once more as they start off down the road.

————

In the kitchen, Elio picks up the container full of brisket and sets it back down again. He stares at it and frowns, biting his lip. He picks it up and turns toward the fridge, but quickly turns and puts it down, yet again, sighing as he does. He pushes his lips to the side and looks back and forth between the freezer and the container. 

He looks up at the sound of Oliver’s quiet laughter and can’t help but smile. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“We can’t possibly finish all of this in a week,” Elio shrugs helplessly. “Can we freeze it?”

Oliver shrugs, “Why not?”

“Okay, I’ll just transfer it into a differe _mmph_ —” he’s cut off by Oliver spinning him around for a kiss. “What was that for?”

“No reason,” Oliver shakes his head. “Many reasons.”

Elio settles his arms around Oliver’s shoulders. “Do you want to tell me?”

“I’m glad you were with me this weekend,” Oliver confesses. “Thank you for being so patient with my mother and—”

“Oliver, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Elio’s brow furrows. “I wanted to be there. With you. _For you_. I’d do it a hundred times and more.”

“I know you would,” Oliver pushes his fingers through Elio’s hair. “Still, I’m sorry for the way my mother spoke to you.”

“I told you she apologized,” Elio shrugs. “I think her showing up was a good thing for the two of you. I know you don’t want to get your hopes up about it, but I’m happy to hold onto them for you.”

“Just don’t let them get too high, okay?” Oliver hugs him and pulls away with a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve learned it’s only a recipe for great disappointment.”

Elio hums and returns to packing away the food. “Well, I won’t say that it couldn’t hurt to try, but she seemed genuine.”

“She did,” Oliver concedes. “And I will try. I am trying — I invited her to your concert, after all, but—”

“But?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been asked to try.”

Elio’s brow furrows with concern. “Does anything feel different this time?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver sighs, drags his hands through his hair and leans his elbows on the counter. “She didn’t seem to want anything from me in return.”

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

Oliver shrugs. “It’s ridiculous to say it seems too good to be true — whatever this is, it definitely is not _too_ good.”

Elio nods quietly and unpacks another container. “Doesn’t mean it’s bad, though,” he says after a moment.

“No,” Oliver admits. “I’m sure this must all sound strange to you, but I find it very difficult to put much faith in my mother’s affection for me.” 

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous or strange, it’s just how you feel,” Elio assures him. “I know that not everyone had the same kind of upbringing as I have.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Oliver says quickly.

Elio waves him off, puts another container into the fridge and settles across from him at the counter. “Do you _want_ her to come here next month? It’s not too late to—”

Oliver snorts. “Un-invite my mother and grandmother to your concert? That would certainly help things along.”

“You could blame me if you wanted,” Elio lifts a shoulder, reaches out and takes one of Oliver’s hands. “If it would make it easier—”

“I’d never do that to you,” Oliver shakes his head and brings Elio’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, his palm. “I want her to come. The only thing I can do is try and hope that she really means it this time.”

“Okay,” Elio nods.

“How much is left in here?” Oliver gets up and peers down into the bag. 

Elio turns and pokes around in the fridge. “Not too much, but I hope we have enough room,” he moves some things and stops, turns back, and grips Oliver’s sleeve. “Hey, this may sound like a consolation prize or something, but you know that you have a family that loves you no matter what, an _mmph_ —”

When Oliver lets him go, Elio’s grinning. “I think I know what that one was for.”

“You know it’s not a consolation prize,” Oliver murmurs. 

Elio swallows. “I know.” He curves his hand over Oliver’s jaw. “I just want you to be happy. I want everything for you.”

“I don’t need, or want, everything,” Oliver brushes his nose against Elio’s. “I’m already very happy with what I have right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear friends [sarahmonious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahmonious) and [thereisalwaysroom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisalwaysroom) for beta reading this for me, and to [Provenance](https://provenance.tumblr.com/) for the title!


End file.
